


Blue And Red Makes Purple

by Aestheticdenbrough



Series: Number prompts [3]
Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Slushies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 13:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16995792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aestheticdenbrough/pseuds/Aestheticdenbrough
Summary: Fluff prompt from Tumblr!





	Blue And Red Makes Purple

Beverly has never had good luck with the men in her life. Her father pretty much set it up from her early adolescence. To say the least, Tom Rogan is a man in the image of Alvin Marsh, all the way from his scraggly beard to the unkempt hair on his big toe.

He's not kind to her, that's an understatement. Her long sleeves cover bruises and the smooth smile she offers the bartender covers up the fear of him realizing she's left for the night. 

The man passes her her drink, a tall mug of whiskey. Not what most would call a “woman's drink” but it doesn't even make her flinch. She only expected to come out and forget for a while tonight, little does she know that she'll change her life for the better, all on a whim. 

A man with slick dark hair gives her a clumsy wink from across the dimly lit bar, obviously a few notches off sober, just like every other person in this joint. She takes her drink to go sit with him, he looks like he could use some company. He looks like he works somewhere big, his pale blue shirt well pressed and ironed, besides the top three buttons undone to show a tank top underneath, but she can imagine that was a more recent development in his look.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks her, forward as it gets. It's not like Tom, who sugared her up with compliments but didn't spend a dime on her until he had her reeled in. 

Her heart flutters in her chest, she hasn't felt connected to someone like this, not since when she was young. She knows Tom would kill her if he found out she said yes, but she's immediately tempted. She's always gone by her heart. It's steered her wrong several times. But she's learned, bad consequences don't always come from purely bad decisions. 

“Sure, if I can have your name,” she asks, her red lips forming around the words in the least seductive way possible. She's trying to keep Tom in mind. Keep it innocent, though it may develop as she takes another drink from her cup, not being polite or dainty with it, not that the man before her would care much.

“Stan. Stanley Uris, and yours?” The man speaks, his voice not slurred as she'd expect it to be from a man in a drunken state as he is. “And come with me, drinks here suck, nothing good,” he says, swatting frustratedly at the air.

“Beverly Marsh, you can call me Bev. Not Bevvie,” she says sternly, that name is only for her father, that and her fiance back at home. “Am I smart to trust you?”

“We're just going across the street, I haven't touched your drink, you're mostly sober still, it's all up to you,” he says softly, looking in her eyes with his kind, hazel ones. 

She considers it, and decides he doesn't seem too harmful, a drunkard are worst. “Alright, Stanley Uris. The moment things get fishy, I'm leaving,” she says, the usual bite to the back of her tone, the one used by the modern day woman to keep herself safe.

The man smiles a smile she wouldn't expect, it's almost completely innocent, pure joy. She'd never forget that smile, no matter how much alcohol is in her system. “That drink? The perfect hangover cure, preemptive measures.” he stands, leaving his beer bottle on the table to be cleaned up by staff later.

“Alright, I can be down with that,” she smiles, putting an arm around his waist when he wobbles, though he catches his balance quickly. He walks in a zigzag pattern to the bar door, pushing it open to the refreshing summer night air. The buzz of the crickets have replaced the screech of the cicadas brought by the morning sunlight. 

She's shocked when he really did mean across the street. 7/11, the convenience store known for big gulps and hot dogs, it brings a smile to her face, he takes her hand carefully as the door's bell jingles. “Welcome! Hangover cure, there,” he says in a wild voice, the cashier left unphased, it's probably a regular occurrence. This dark haired businessman coming in for his regular slushie after a night at the bar. Typical.

Bev giggles a little, “Sounds good,” she goes along, the whiskey getting to her. Tom doesn't let her drink much, her tolerance being majorly lowered.

“I know exactly what you want, cherry for the Cherry,” he smiles, pulling out the styrofoam cup to fill hers with the red icy liquid, then filling his own with the blue raspberry. He takes it to the counter, “I'm paying,” he says, looking back at her as he scans his card.

He hands her the cup, sipping at his own silently, she doesn't like the quiet. “Penny for your thoughts?” She asks, her voice coming out more as a whisper, but the conversation that follows becoming increasingly louder in the bright store in the late night. 

It goes on for what feels to them as hours and only a few minutes at the same time, talking as if they've always known each other. It's what loneliness and an icee can do to someone.

“Y'know. I wish we met sooner. Before your husband, we could have made a cute couple,” Stan says, keeping up with his consistent forward comments.

“Who says it's too late?” She asks, putting her hand carefully on his jaw, bringing her cherry flavored lips to make purple with his blue.


End file.
